You know when you have an orgasm so intense your eyes well up with tears? Yeah, those are the ones that clue you in to the fact that you're in love.

Beautiful from Behind

Last year, I noticed my first wrinkle while on the way to dinner with my then boyfriend's parents. Right between my eyebrows, clear as day, reminding everyone that I scrunch up my brows too much. Try as I might, I can't stop running my finger over it.

Then there's my ever growing collection of grey hairs. And cellulite. And hips that seem to widen every time I go to sleep. And a stomach that is not flat despite the optimistic claims of Nivea. I'll acknowledge that I'm pretty, but not beautiful by any means. In addition to that horrible wrinkle, I have a tiny birth mark on my upper lip that appears massive to me. This is overshadowed, of course, by the enormous nose I inherited from my father. Obsessing over these things is not unique to me. All the women I know have these same fixations, these same inconvenient little truths about our bodies.

Getting into my bath tub, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirrored doors of my closet, and for the first time in ages, became positively fixated on the beauty of my body. The perfect outer curve of my thigh leading up to wide hips which taper off into a small waist. This is all topped off with strong, broad shoulders and well defined blades. An hour glass dripping with inked raindrops and magnolia flowers. Say what you will, but I am beautiful from behind.

I can easily recall a time when I was single. More than that, I can easily recall a time when I was twice the size I am now, smoked recklessly, and indulged in whatever struck my fancy. I remember these times and though often marred by anger and stress, these were never lonely, lacking confidence, anxiety riddled moments.

Fast forward to now: I am (relatively) thin, have a sensible, loving boyfriend, decent job, cute apartment, etc. and I am very unhappy. I only feel disgust when I look at myself in the mirror. Being around other people, even those I love, has become painful and agitating to me. If I could I would never leave my apartment. Everytime I do, I am convinced something will go terribly wrong and everyone will judge me.

What happened to the person that I used to be? All things considered, I used to be well adjusted, confident, personable, and even popular. I used to be, dare I say, content.

Maybe this malaise is a symptom of the toll taken on me through years of wild living and careless abuses of myself. Maybe self-doubt and scrutiny are merely a function of growing up. Maybe I've eaten too much sugar, or am just in a bad mood. Whatever it is, it's a feeling that I can't seem to shake. It's that feeling that you have when you know that something just isn't right.